Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau
by Gramarye
Summary: .'...and perhaps there are things, later, that I might be able to do to help.' And perhaps, for Bran Davies, it is easiest to help by starting with something familiar, and something that is very dear to him.


An odd image popped into my head the other day – Bran and Will, sitting together (awkwardly)  
in a cramped dormitory room that is awash in political campaign literature. This fic is the result  
of my attempt to put that image into words.

Standard disclaimers apply. Bran Davies, Will Stanton, and _The Dark Is Rising_ Sequence are  
all copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau  
(The Land of My Fathers)  
By: Gramarye

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'Sorry about that,' Bran said as he closed the door. 'I _did_ tell people I had a guest this weekend.'

Will, perched rather awkwardly on the edge of Bran's bed, said nothing. But his gaze was roaming  
about, trying to come to terms with the sheer amount of clutter that filled his normally tidy friend's  
room. There were piles of flyers and rolled posters crammed into every available corner, as well  
as one or two boldly-lettered placards propped up against the little wall space that was left over.  
Bran's desk was a sea of leaflets and what appeared to be class notes, all mixed together and pinned  
down by textbooks -- and the reason that Will was seated so uncomfortably on the bed was the fact  
that he had to share the space with still more flyers, as well as a battered old typewriter.

Bran hurriedly moved the flyers and the typewriter to the floor. 'Sorry. But really, you should've  
let me know that you were taking the earlier train.'

'I know -- look, I'm not making you miss anything, am I?' Now that the bed was clear there was room  
for Will to sit more comfortably, but even so he didn't feel any less awkward in his new position.  
With the toe of one shoe, he nudged the flyers that Bran had moved to the floor, and thought fleetingly  
of fire hazards. 'That girl...she seemed rather upset that you weren't going to make it to the meeting  
tonight.'

'I _organised_ that meeting,' Bran said, mildly exasperated. 'I'm allowed to miss a few of them -- that's  
what we have deputy chairs and all that for.' He dragged his desk chair over to the bed, dumped his  
schoolbag onto the floor, and sat down. 'This weekend, I'm entirely at your disposal.'

Will smiled, forcing himself to relax. 'Well, then. It's your town, what do you suggest we do?'

Bran pursed his mouth, thinking. 'Well, we could do the usual thing that's done on Friday nights around  
here, which normally involves a sizeable number of pints of whatever beer is cheapest. Or we could get  
takeaway and come back here -- or take it elsewhere,' he added, seeing a momentary flicker of alarm  
cross Will's face, 'and you can tell me what it's like at your uni.'

'The beer's probably more expensive there, for a start.' Will paused, gnawing his lip in an effort to decide  
whether or not he should say what had been on his mind since the moment he had shown up at Bran's door.  
'Bran, I'm going to ask this now, so it won't come up again, but..._why_?'

For a moment, Bran's expression went sharp and defensive. It was the old arrogance that Will had seen  
often enough before, only now it was combined with an unfamiliar hostility that Will didn't like at all.  
But that expression only lasted for a moment, and soon it faded to a sort of weariness that Will recognised  
at once -- the weariness of one who has been struggling with a burden for so long that the struggle and the  
burden have become almost indistinguishable.

'Why Plaid Cymru, you mean?' Bran looked away, fixing his gaze on the _Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg_  
placard that was propped up against his desk. 'You'll probably laugh, but...but it _means_ something, here.  
And it means I'm involved in something that matters, to me and to a lot of other people.'

He took a breath, almost as if he intended to leave it at that, but when he let the breath out the words  
kept coming. 'And I'm _good_ at it, at the committees and the protests and the organising and all of it --  
or at least everyone says so.'

'You're good at leading people.' Will's voice was flat, if only because he didn't know where the  
emphasis should fall in that sentence. He didn't quite trust himself to know where to put it.

Bran shrugged, though it was a lopsided shrug that only used one shoulder. 'Something like that.'  
He glanced over at Will, a sidelong glance. 'So? What of it?'

'Just...just wondering, ' Will said, rather lamely. 'To tell the truth, I'm not at all surprised.' It was all  
too easy to imagine Bran giving a speech or organising a student meeting or planning a demonstration --  
and all too easy to wish that he could be there, if only to watch.

Bran raised one eyebrow, very slightly.

Some deeper, older, and infinitely more sensible part of Will's mind warned him that the conversation  
was turning in potentially dangerous directions, so he fell back on his old stand-by topic: food. 'Come on,  
then -- dinner's on me tonight, so long as you don't pick the most expensive thing on the menu.'

'Dinner?' Bran blinked, a little disconcerted by the abrupt shift in topic, but he seemed as eager as Will  
for the chance to change the subject. 'And what if it's what I was planning to order anyway, hm?'

'Then I get to eat half of it, and we'll split the cost.'

Bran snorted, but it sounded as if he was trying to cover a laugh. 'You have the most infuriatingly  
logical mind, Stanton.'

'I'm only logical when I'm hungry,' Will replied, grinning. 'Which I am now.'

'Aww,' Bran said with exaggerated sympathy, 'didn't British Rail feed you?'

'_Feed_ me?' Will made a not-entirely-mock-horrified face. 'Their definition of "food" and my definition  
of "food" are entirely incompatible. Not even in the same dictionary.'

'Then by all means, let's go find out what your definition of food is.' Bran stood up, and shoved his desk  
chair back into place.

Will slid off the bed, trying not to step on the leaflets.

'Lead the way,' he said.

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_Notes_:  
Plaid Cymru ('Party of Wales') is the left-of-centre Welsh nationalist political party. Cymdeithas  
yr Iaith Gymraeg ('Welsh Language Society') is a pressure group which campaigns to promote,  
preserve, and increase the general usage of the Welsh language.

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Gramarye  
17 January 2005


End file.
